It's Still There, Darling
by SparkIntoAFlame
Summary: Stucky one-shots. Some drabbles, some are longer, some are angsty, some are just pure fluff.
1. nightmares

Nightmares aren't a rare occurrence for either of them.

It's almost a nightly ritual at this point; waking up sometime after midnight to calm the other down after they wake up shaking and/or crying.

So when Steve wakes up at precisely 2:36AM on a Saturday night to the sound of Bucky's quiet crying, he really isn't surprised. In fact, he thinks half-bitterly, he wishes he wasn't so good at calming Bucky down, because god knows neither of them deserve their nightmares.

"Buck? Bucky, darling," Steve whispers.

He waits for a minute and tries again when there's no reply. "Bucky, babe?"

No response. The soft sobs hadn't stopped and Steve's almost getting worried now. "Bucky?"

Nothing. Steve crawls over to Bucky and gently prods his shoulder. He gets nothing except - wait. Bucky's murmuring words - begging, really - in between his tearful gasps, which are only getting louder.

"Please, please, I don't _want_ to kill her, please, please, don't make me, please, I'm sorry."

Steve freezes and his mouth opens a little in shock. "B-Bucky?"

Bucky doesn't seem to hear him and it takes a moment for Steve's brain to kick back into gear and realize that _shit, he's probably still asleep, isn't he?_

"Bucky. Bucky," Steve says, his voice getting a little louder and insistent. "Bucky!"

Bucky's eyes stay closed and his voice gets more desperate. "No, please! Please, stop, stop stop! Please, I don't want to, I don't need to, she didn't do _anything_ , please!"

Steve's heart keeps breaking with every word Bucky says. Steve is about to make another attempt at waking Bucky up when Bucky lets out a final, strangled " _NO!_ " and his eyes fly open. He scrambles up into a sitting position and catches sight of Steve.

"Fuck," Bucky says, breathing hard and fast. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and slowly exhales.

Steve watches with concern as Bucky calms down and waits a full two and a half minutes before asking, "Bucky, wh-are you okay?"

Bucky laughs once, harsh and sudden. "Yes. No. I don't fucking know, Steve."

Steve cautiously crawls over to Bucky and presses against him, hip to hip. "Do you want to…"

Bucky looks at Steve. The moonlight shining through the window illuminates the pain and fear in his eyes. "Guess I kinda should."

Steve sucks in a breath. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Bucky nods. "It...when I was...y'know, him, the Winter Soldier, it wasn't like I didn't know what was happening. It was like….taking a backseat in your own mind."

Steve wants to open his mouth and say that he's _so damn sorry_ , and Bucky _shouldn't have gone through all that_ , but he resists, only nodding once for Bucky to continue.

Bucky takes a breath. "I knew...what he was doing. Killing, killing all those people. And I was screaming in my own head to stop. Do you know what it's like, to see yourself murdering _innocent people_? Watching your hands move and not being able to stop it?"

Bucky's shaking now, and Steve carefully maneuvers them so that Bucky is in front of Steve. Bucky curls up into Steve's chest and Steve strokes long, soothing lines down his back.

"It's done now," Steve says, planting a kiss on the top of Bucky's head. "I swear. It's done."

Bucky nods against Steve's chest, and murmurs something that sounds vaguely like "thank you" but it's muffled against Steve's body.

Steve doesn't move until Bucky's asleep again.


	2. medbay? again? seriously?

Bucky was _so goddamn pissed_.

He wasn't sure if he was more pissed at the people that hurt Steve, or Steve himself because that _fucking idiot_ _is going to get himself killed one day trying to save someone._

When Stark (Tony, not Howard) knocked on his door and interrupted his reading, Bucky was expecting to make a snarky remark and maybe punch him in the face with his metal arm, nothing to complicated, just a simple conversation.

"What?" Bucky snapped, waving the book in the air.

Tony opened his mouth then closed it. His face was uncharacteristically solemn. "Steve...he-he's in the medbay, room 74-"

Bucky didn't let Tony say another word before practically shoving him out of his way and trying to sprint to the medbay. Operative word being "trying" because Tony managed to catch hold of Bucky's arm and dragged him back.

"Bucky. He's….well, he's not conscious," Tony explained. "He won't...we don't…"

"I. Don't. Care." Bucky hissed and shook his arm out of Tony's grasp. He whirled around to face Tony completely. "I don't _care_ if he's unconscious or in a damn coma, I'm going to _be with him_. And if you try to stop me, Stark, I swear to _God_ I will put you in the medbay, and you won't be coming out of there for a long time."

Tony stepped back and nodded, gesturing for Bucky to go. Bucky wasted no time in making his way to the medbay and finding room 74.

"For fuck's sake, Steven…" Bucky said as he walked in.

Steve was unconscious, as Tony had said, and there was an empty chair next to his bed. Bucky took the seat and braced his forearms on his knees.

"Steven, you fucking idiot. When you wake up I'm going to _kill_ you, you hear me?" Bucky whispered. "Fucking kill you. What were you _thinking_? You probably pulled some dumbass stunt again and look where it got you, huh? In the medbay. _Again_."

Bucky stared at Steve for a minute and then wiped his eyes. He was going to stay here until Steve woke up, whether it be in minutes, or hours, or _days_ , he didn't care.

.xXx.

It was about five hours and thirty-six minutes until Steve woke up, but, ironically, Bucky had fallen asleep. Not that anyone would have blamed him, seeing as Steve woke up around 12AM and Bucky had been up since about 6AM.

"What…?" Steve murmured, looking around, attempting to get his bearings. The first thing he realized was that, oh, he was in the medbay again. The second thing he noticed was the metal-armed man sitting beside his bed - no, sleeping.

As if on cue, Bucky's head rose slightly and he blinked sleepily and Steve sitting up in bed.

"You're up?" Bucky said quietly. "How you doin', babe?"

"Better," Steve answered.

Bucky crossed his arms and scowled. "What did you do this time?"

Steve grinned sheepishly. "Uh...well, there was this little boy, and I...y'know just...he was in the way and there…I just…"

"You're too _good_ ," Bucky interrupted, shaking his head and smiling incredulously. He stood up and stretched before pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead.

"I'm gonna go get you cleared for release, yeah?" Bucky said.

"Yeah. Thanks, Buck."

Bucky grinned and kissed Steve before walking out and getting Dr. Cho.

.xXx.

"I'm fine," Steve insisted on their way back.

"You've stumbled three times in as many minutes," Bucky retorted, grabbing Steve's arm.

"Fuck you," Steve muttered as Bucky led him back to their room.

"Maybe later."

Steve choked on a laugh then winced.

"You okay, Steve?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, don't worry. Just...tired."

They reached their door and Bucky opened it, allowing Steve in first who immediately collapsed on the bed.

"A little more than tired," Bucky commented.

Steve mumbled something vaguely and waved his hand at Bucky.

"Yeah, yeah, go to sleep, you star-spangled asshole," Bucky said, laying next to Steve.

"Star-spangled asshole?" Steve yelped.

"G'night."


	3. sketches drawings

Steve was an artist. It was a part of him, really. Sure, he was Captain America and all, but he was also Steven Rogers, who doodled in the margins of mission files and drew with whatever he had on hand and had filled up every sketchbook he owned with drawings done in charcoal and pencil and one or two done with pink Crayola crayons (it was the only thing he had).

Back in Brooklyn, when they couldn't risk being seen together in public lest they become outcasts, Steve drew for Bucky as well as himself. He professed his love in the form of the city skyline, a garden, a sketch of an eye (Bucky's, but he wouldn't tell _anyone_ that). Now, in the twenty-first century, where their love is hardly rare, he draws to deal with his mental stress, mainly his trauma from the war. Barely anyone knows this fact, aside from Bucky, Tony, who often handed Steve a small bag full of art supplies ranging from colored pencils to watercolors, and Natasha, who, with her uncanny sense for sniffing out secrets, often provided a new sketchbook whenever Steve was about to finish his current one.

Bucky never looked at the drawings, not for lack of want, but out of respect for Steve. And, quite frankly, he was scared about what he might find in those sketchbooks. There was never a rationale for the fear, just the general sense of dread whenever his mind wandered to the books piled in the drawers and on the desk in their room.

.xXx.

"You never ask to look," Steve says suddenly one day.

It was a rather uneventful day, and Bucky and Steve had taken advantage of the fact to just stay in the room, Bucky reading and Steve sketching, both laying next to each other on the bed, hands sometimes finding their way on the other person's chest or arm, playing with their hair.

"Well, I mean, it's your drawings," Bucky tries, stumbling over his words. "I didn't wanna be rude, and I figured if you _wanted_ to share them, you would."

"Do you want to?" Steve's question is barely louder than a breath.

Bucky hesitates and then nods. Steve gets up from the bed and crosses the room in three strides, picks up a book from the desk, and tosses it to Bucky who catches it easily.

"Aren't you coming over here?" Bucky teases when Steve remains on the other side of the room.

Steve shakes his head. "No. There's some things…some things that I'd rather just draw to get out of me and then forget. Well, I can't forget - just look, you'll know what I mean."

Bucky raises an eyebrow and then opens the book. The first page is random doodles, mainly of flowers and birds, a cute page full of nothing but sweet things.

"These are cute, Steve," Bucky says.

Steve smiles faintly. "That's not what you'll be saying on the next page."

Bucky turns the page and feels his heart stop. His hair is shorter and his face is younger, but he could never forget the day portrayed in the picture. His hand outstretched in a vain attempt to grab the train already several feet out of reach. His face contorted in a shout of fear and denial.

"It...It's when I fell," Bucky whispers.

Steve almost seems to shrink into the wall. "Yeah."

Bucky glances up at Steve, then back at the page. The detail, the exact shading...Steve must have spent _hours_ on this full page picture.

"Why?" And Bucky's voice isn't sharp or harsh or condescending or rude. It's curiosity and love and something edging on pity, but not as humiliating.

"Because…" Steve's words are shaky. "Because….it needed to be somewhere besides my head. It was fucking eating me alive, Buck, and even when you came back, and you're back, but I couldn't...shake the feeling...the _guilt_...and…"

Before Steve can choke out another word, Bucky walks across the room and hugs him tightly. Steve's trembling and Bucky can _swear_ something wet falls on his shoulder.

"It's fine," Bucky soothes. "You're all good now. I'm right here, darling, and I don't plan on going anywhere, ever."

Slowly, Steve's coming back to him, and soon, he's standing straight up and his eyes are red but his mouth is smiling.

"The rest of them aren't as depressing," Steve promises and they spend the rest of the time looking at Steve's sketches and laughing at the one that's neon pink because, hey, when you only have a crayon, you gotta make do.

 **It's a bit longer than normal, but I** _ **had**_ **to write this one. I'm posting this a bit soon because I'm gonna be away Friday-Monday and needed to push something out.**


End file.
